Light Up The Night

Waking up alone in the townhouse still felt strange to Bucky. How short a time it had taken for that to happen. Just a few months ago – well, closer to a year – he’d woken up by himself in this same bed more mornings than not. Nothing was different about the room; the blackout curtains still hung in the windows, his sheets and blankets felt the same against his skin, and his room continued to smell of lavender.

But back in Steve’s apartment, he’d rarely woken up alone, aside from the handful of times when his physical or mental condition prevented him from working or left him sleeping in later. More often than not though, he’d drifted back to awareness to find Steve curled up beside him. Even the times that he had woken up alone, there hadn’t been this same level of disorientation when he woke up.

Steve’s apartment had become “home” and replaced the townhouse. Now his mind couldn’t see to reverse the change. That held a certain note of irony, particularly when the apartment was gone.

At the least, it helped to still have Winter by his side when he woke up. After everything his dog had gone through he had worried, because he wasn’t in any place mentally or physically to comfort Winter, if the stress proved enough to throw his dog off his game. But Winter readily adapted to each of those transitions and continued to perform his job as effectively as he had at the beginning. Each morning, since arriving at the townhouse, Winter ensured that Bucky figured out where he was slowly and calmly, licking at Bucky’s fingers to ground him, resting his head against Bucky’s shoulder to offer comfort, doing everything he could to support him. Each morning, the pieces fell back into place just a little bit more quickly than the day before.

Now, after a few weeks, the initial disorientation remained but lifted shortly after he opened his eyes and took in the room. He still gave his body a few moments to adjust, trying to utilize all of the techniques he’d learned in therapy over the past year. More days than not, there had been a mixture of both, which felt like a triumph for him. The fact that he could even assess his status within a few moments was an improvement from those early days after being in the hospital following the fire, when he remained hazy and confused for some time and frequently fell asleep throughout the day.

Although maybe the improvement was only because he was filled with rage and refused to let even the bad days bring him down. If he let every day where his head hurt or he felt foggy prevent him from doing anything, he wasn’t going to be much use to himself or anyone else. Over the past several days, he’d spent as many hours as he could tolerate walking on the treadmill downstairs and then taking apart one of Sam’s guns to remind himself of how the weight felt in his hand, even if the Glock wasn’t his weapon of choice. Still, it was something to help improve his muscle memory, particularly in light of the fact that he was working without a second hand to steady his shot.

Overall though, today felt like a good day. He hadn’t popped a painkiller since the previous evening and despite that, the pain remained at a relatively low level. This morning, he kept to his routine, spending a couple of minutes sitting in bed, petting Winter, before making his way downstairs. A glance at the clock revealed that it was almost noon – a misstep on his part, as far as he was concerned. One of his goals had been to wake up at a reasonable time to keep himself on a schedule. Today, clearly, he’d failed. Given what he considered to be the late hour, once he’d tossed on clothes and a pair of sneakers, he bypassed breakfast by downing a glass of water, refilled his water bottle, and then headed for the basement, Winter padding at his side.

Stretching took a bit more time than it had prior to his latest injury, not to mention some creativity on his part, but he wasn’t taking any chances at this point. With only one working arm, the last thing he needed was to pull a muscle and be down any additional limbs. After the stretching, he took himself through another body scan to ensure there were no additional concerns in his physical functioning and, once confident in his abilities, he stepped onto the treadmill.

His startle response was still too high for him to put his headphones on and tune out the world with music. While he doubted anyone in the house would be stupid enough to approach him from behind, he felt uneasy having his hearing cut off by headphones. As a response, the only sound in the room came from his sneakers tapping out a pattern on the treadmill.

For the first time, he cranked up the machine to the maximum speed of a fast walk that he’d been doing for the past few days. Then, with another hit of the button, that left him with no other choice but to start running. Each step jolted through his body and into his shoulder and he held his breath for an instant – not the best running practice – as he waited to see if the pain would hit immediately afterwards. While he could certainly feel the reverberations in his shoulder, there was no increase in pain and almost immediately he found himself easing into the rhythm and focusing on nothing other than his pace.

The minutes ticked on and he chanced increasing the speed, just by another notch. It didn’t take long for his body to go on autopilot. After basic training and so many fitness tests over the years, his body remembered what to do and he focused on his pace and breathing and stopped looking at how long he’d been running. The burning in his legs was just something to push through, and he knew that he’d experience an incredible rush once on the other side of the pain and discomfort.

It wasn’t until he caught his peripheral vision starting to turn to static that he knew something was wrong. At the same moment, Winter gave a warning bark. Bucky slowed down the treadmill until it was moving slowly enough that he could stumble his way off. Once on the ground, it continued to feel as though the once solid floor was moving underneath him, the walls wavering around him, and he quickly dropped to his knees. Winter immediately moved to his side and he sunk his fingers into his dog’s fur, focusing on slowing his breathing. His heart felt like it was trying to hammer its way out of his chest and even with his eyes closed, he could still see the static in the edges of his vision in a sickening way that made him think that this was shifting into migraine territory.

Then the basement door opened and the stairs creaked under someone’s weight but looking up to see who was there wasn’t about to happen. Instead, he tried to pull up everyone’s schedules in his mind to figure out who might be home at this point but given that he couldn’t remember which day it even was, that wasn’t happening. Then, the idea that this might not be one of the other occupants of the house sent his heart rate – which had just slowed – back into overdrive.

“Barnes? What the hell happened to you?”

Well, that gave him his answer and eased his anxiety, even if it also left him more confused. Sam never came home this early, unless Bucky had been down in the basement much longer than he thought he’d been.

Coming up with an answer to that question took far too much energy, so he settled on, “Hey, Sam.”

He kept his head lowered, eyes closed, as Sam sat down beside him. He felt the sensation of a hand coming to rest on his right shoulder. The fact that Sam didn’t continue asking him questions and instead just rubbed his back, giving him something to focus on, left him incredibly grateful. Slowing his breathing helped and eventually the pounding in his ears eased up and his vision cleared at least a bit, enough that he chanced opening his eyes. He exhaled a grateful sigh. At least that change ruled out a migraine for the time being.

“You push yourself too hard?” Sam finally questioned. “For fuck’s sake, Barnes, you’re still healing.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But I can’t sit on my ass every day, Sam. Not after what’s happened.”

“I don’t need to tell you that you’re no use to anyone if you’ve run yourself ragged,” Sam pointed out. “We’re all fucked up over what happened and, yeah, I know it’s different for you because you were actually there. So I get wanting to get back in shape because that gives you more of a sense of control. But hurting yourself to do that isn’t going to get you where you want to go.” He allowed a beat of silence to pass before asking, “Did you even eat breakfast?”

Bucky finally raised his head enough to give Sam a half-grin. “Whoops? I guess I forgot that part.”

“And now, what exactly? You’re feeling dizzy? Light-headed? Weak? All of the above?” Sam asked with a raised eyebrow.

“All of the above,” Bucky reluctantly agreed.

Sam sighed heavily. “You’re getting a hell of a lecture from me once we get you fixed up. Think you can stand?”

“I can try.”

With Sam’s help, he slowly got to his feet, his good arm slung over Sam’s shoulder, Winter at his left side as they made their way up the stairs. Once in the kitchen, Sam deposited him at the table and went straight over to the refrigerator. Bucky focused on petting Winter’s head as his dog sat down beside him.

Sam called over his shoulder, “You feeling up to eating, right? Anything I should go light on or is a balanced breakfast something you can handle?”

“I can handle it,” Bucky said quickly, before he was even certain of whether that was a truthful response. Then, a bit more convincingly added, “Yeah, I’m good.”

Sam nodded. “Then I’ll get you some eggs and sausage.” He opened the fridge and took out the eggs, a half-eaten pack of sausage, and a carton of orange juice. “While I’m working on that, you’re going to drink at least a glass of orange juice.”

“Yes, mom.”

Bucky rolled his eyes but didn’t argue when Sam shoved the juice filled glass, as well as a water filled one, across the table to him. After a few sips of the orange juice though, he had to admit that Sam was onto something with this recommendation. Already, he could feel his head clearing. He leaned back in his chair and watched Sam move around the kitchen, pulling out various skillets and pans and getting the food started.

Silence reigned until Sam inquired, “How’re you holding up?”

Bucky shrugged his good shoulder. “I’m doing the best I can be, I guess. I’m the angriest I’ve been in a long while. I almost put my fist through a wall yesterday. The only reason I didn’t was because this is Nat’s house and I definitely fucked it up enough early on when I lived here. I figured I owed her to not cause more destruction now that she’s letting me live here again. But, yeah, I’m pissed. If I were to find the guys who did this shit, I’m pretty sure I’d be heading to prison for a long, long time.”

There was an uncomfortably long moment of silence from Sam before he said, “That wouldn’t be worth it, Buck. You know it wouldn’t. I get it. I want them gone too. I want them to suffer for what they did to you and Steve and Pietro and Clint. But I don’t want you to suffer more because of them and that’s exactly what’s gonna happen if you retaliate.”

Bucky felt his lips curve into a scowl. “But you know they’re never gonna come to justice. These types of people never do. For fuck’s sake, you remember what happened with Loki those couple of months back. We basically had a confession and we knew we couldn’t take it further legally because he’s a diplomat and he’d have immunity. It’s not like we have the evidence to get anyone convicted of the arson and attempted homicide at Shield or, hell, the evidence to get someone for Pietro’s shooting.”

“That doesn’t mean that we can’t get that stuff,” Sam argued. “I’ve said it a couple of times already, maybe not to you but to the others, and I’ll say it again: I think if we want to get revenge, the best revenge is going to be to gather that evidence. It’s not like you don’t know about recon and interrogating. Better to take that direction than to destroy your own life.”

Bucky felt his anger rising and he choked back all of the things he wanted to say - they tried to kill me, they tried to kill Steve, and when someone tries to kill you, you fucking retaliate and take them out - and instead concentrated his energy on petting Winter. For as much better as he’d gotten with managing his anger, he knew it didn’t take much to get him from angry to destructive and he didn’t think he was anywhere near stable enough to calm himself down if he fully gave into that anger now.

Sam picked up on that and gave Bucky the time and space to get himself back under control before saying, “I get it, you’re pissed about me saying that. I’m not trying to say that your anger isn’t valid or your thoughts of retaliation aren’t valid. I’m just saying that I’m worried about you. You didn’t go through all of the shit you’ve been through to end up in prison. You don’t deserve that.”

Bucky exhaled raggedly and waited until he trusted himself to say, “I’m not gonna do anything stupid. I’m not in any condition to do something impulsive. The only thing I’m worrying about right now is doing everything I can to prepare myself so that if I’m in a position where I could or should act, I’m able to do it. That’s all.”

Sam nodded in response to that, enough to let Bucky know he’d heard what he’d said, and then seemed to give up on the conversation for the time being. Bucky told himself that it must have been because he was focusing on getting the eggs and sausage, in addition to the bread that just popped out of the toaster, onto a plate to bring over to the table. He poured a cup of coffee and then brought the items over to the table.

At that point, Bucky couldn’t dwell on that much more since he cared more about getting the food off of the plate and into his body. He hadn’t realized how hungry he’d been until the first bite passed through his lips, at which point he had to convince himself to eat at a reasonable pace because he wanted to inhale everything. Sam let him eat without comment and by the time he slowed down, Bucky found that his anger had decreased substantially and he felt much more able to hold a calm, rational conversation.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you came home when you did, but you’re never home this early,” he commented to Sam. “Is everything alright?”

“Oh yeah, everything’s fine,” Sam said, leaning back in his chair. “Today’s one of my class days, not VA days, and it turned out that my afternoon class got cancelled. I’ll need to head back for the evening one but I figured I’d stop by here in the meantime. I knew you were home alone and I figured you could use some company. You keep saying you’re okay with spending the day alone but it’s been a couple of weeks now and I thought that might be starting to mess with your head.”

“It’s not that bad,” Bucky said, after a few moments of consideration. “I’ve pretty much got a routine down at this point. Everyone who’s got more flexible schedules comes in and out throughout the day so I’m not all on my own the entire time. I know everyone tried to figure out a way to keep someone with me throughout the entire day but that hasn’t been necessary. I spent time alone back when I first moved in here, I can handle spending time in here now.”

“I just wasn’t sure if it might be more of an adjustment now than it was then. I mean, you had your months spent working, even if some of those months were inconsistent, and this is a pretty big change for you.” Sam hesitated before adding, “I just haven’t wanted you to feel as though you’ve somehow taken any steps backward. Because this isn’t on you, Barnes. You had no control over what happened.”

“That doesn’t make it less of a situation where I’ve taken a step backward though,” Bucky reluctantly acknowledged. “Yeah, I know it wasn’t in my control. But the fact remains that I’m no longer working and probably won’t be for the foreseeable future because who’s going to give a one-armed vet with PTSD and a TBI a chance to work in their shop with all of the limitations I have? I know the apartment wasn’t my place for long but it was still home. Now my arm’s all fucked up again and no matter how much the doctors reassure me that everything will be fine in the end, I can’t help but worry about the range of movement or strength I’ll end up with. I’m a fucking mess, Sam, and I get that it’s not my fault but that doesn’t entirely help.”

“I still don’t think you’re seeing things completely objectively.” Sam must have seen the flare of anger that those words provoked in Bucky’s expression since a moment later, he quickly backtracked. “Sorry. You’re not my client and I’m not your therapist. What I just said is not for me to say. That was way out of line. What do you need from me? What can I do to help?”

“Shit, Sam, you know you’ve already done more than enough.” Bucky’s anger didn’t quite abate, just decreased enough for him to trust himself to respond without losing his shit. “You’ve been beside me through it all and you’re still here now. I couldn’t ask for anything more. I worry more that I haven’t done enough to help you.” It was clear that Sam was about to argue, which meant that Bucky just plowed right ahead without giving him the chance to say anything. “But if you’re offering… I could use some self-defense practice.”

Sam shook his head before the final words passed through Bucky’s lips. “No, no, and hell no. Barnes, you are recovering. I’m not going to spar with you or take you to the shooting range or anything else. Not until you’re more healed up than you are now.”

Bucky all but ground his teeth in frustration. “But, Sam, I need all of that. I’m out of practice. I’m rusty. I’m still getting used to the changes in my balance and mobility after my injuries - ”

“Which means that training now isn’t exactly going to help given that you’re lacking half of your arm,” Sam cut in.

“ – and I need to be prepared to defend myself, especially now when I’m down to one working arm,” Bucky finished. “I’m not asking for you to put me in a situation where I could get hurt. Just give me something so that I feel prepared to defend myself when something happens.”

Sam stared at Bucky for a long, uncomfortable moment. “Alright. I’ll see what I can figure out. It’s not going to be anything intensive. It’s not going to be outright sparring. It’s going to be little stuff, like using throwing knives, stuff you can do one-handed. Otherwise, it’ll be basics. Disarming. Pressure points. Anything that’s not going to end with you being in a position where you could hurt yourself while we practice. Sound like a deal?”

Bucky extended his hand across the table. “Sounds like a deal to me.”

-~-

“So, you’ve finally invited your friend over to play.” Pepper greeted Tony as she handed him his schedule for the day. “What finally changed your mind?”

“What are you talking about?” Tony asked, spreading his hands. “My intention was always to let Bruce come over and see the lab. I offered him the invitation several weeks ago and he declined. I just asked again and this time he accepted. He’s got some decent high-tech stuff where he’s at now but nothing compared to the shit I’ve got in here. I’m interested to see how he does with some higher quality toys.”

“Mmhmm. That’s why it took you so long to offer him the invitation once more.” Pepper tucked her pen back into the top of her clipboard. “Well, I’m glad to see that he’s coming by today. Are you planning to make this a weekly event? Should I add it to your calendar?”

“Not necessary at this point,” Tony quickly said. “I’m not sure how frequent it’s going to be. That’ll partially on Bruce’s schedule. I’m certainly willing to have him come by more often but I don’t want to add any additional stress on him.”

“And you’re supposedly running a company,” Pepper pointed out, raising an eyebrow. “It seems to me that you should both be pretty busy. Especially with everything that’s been going on since you went public with the twins. Speaking of which, are you prepared for tonight?”

“I’m as prepared as I’m going to be,” Tony muttered. “I don’t know what Talbot’s playing at, requesting a televised mediated interview with me.”

“I’ve been going through any and all documentation I could find to support your case, as well as anything he could blindside you with. My guess is that rather than defend himself directly, he’ll be going after you and your reputation. That’s good, seeing as you’ve had a marvelous track record of making a fool out of yourself that I’m sure he could utilize. Thankfully, the majority of that is already public knowledge. Unless there’s something you haven’t already told me or isn’t available online, I don’t anticipate him having anything that the world doesn’t already know that he could use against you.”

“Nothing that comes to my mind. Anyways, it’s not my reputation I’m worried about,” Tony said with a shrug. “Like you said, the world already knows that I’ve been a bit – or a lot - of a fuck up. I’m more concerned with anything we might not already know involving the twins.”

“Ultimately, he can say what he wants about them, if he has evidence to back it up,” Pepper said. “There’s nothing I’ve been able to find that’s particularly notable or not already known – Pietro’s public meltdown at that gala years ago was broadcasted already and his ‘behavioral problems’ were quite well documented by the media – and I don’t anticipate that’s going to sway anyone’s opinion after the twins’ statements. That said, I’m much more concerned – as I would imagine you are – with keeping them safe and I don’t see how any conversation between you and Talbot is going to put that in jeopardy.” She paused before adding, “I’m much more worried about your safety at this point, Tony.”

Tony brushed off her concern. “Talbot’s way too smart to go after me. Especially not with something this public. He knows that he’d be the prime suspect if anything happened to me now. Which makes that the least of my concerns at this point. He’ll do what he can to drag my name through the mud, I’ll do what I can to do the same to him, and I’ll keep the focus off the twins as much as I can.”

“Tony,” Pepper cautioned. “You have to keep in mind that while there’s plenty of ways he could go after you, I haven’t been able to come up with concrete evidence against him. He’s done a good job keeping everything out of the public eye. All you really have to go on are the pieces of evidence from the twins and that’s not proof, strictly speaking.”

Tony felt his jaw hardening and eyes narrowing. Pepper must have caught that as well, given that she reminded him, “You know that I believe them. They have no reason to lie about experiencing those years of abuse and obviously they’re afraid of Talbot. My job is to be aware of every way that a public statement can be challenged or how the press might spin it. I’m just trying to prepare you for some of these different obstacles and make sure you’re aware of all of the aspects.”

“I’m hearing you loud and clear, Pepper,” Tony said dismissively. “Get the file ready for me, I’ll look over it in the car on the way to the studio for the interview. Right now, I need to get ready for our visitor.”

Right on cue, JARVIS informed him, “Mr. Banner is at the door. Shall I let him inside?”

Relieved to be done with his conversation with Pepper, Tony eagerly said, “Let him up, JARVIS. I’ll meet him at the elevator.”

Despite the recent controversy surrounding Tony, his friendship with Bruce seemed to be growing stronger and for the time being, Tony didn’t view that as a bad thing. Even with everything else going on, he hadn’t been self-destructing – hell, he’d barely touched alcohol since the night of the press conference – and spending time over in Bruce’s lab proved to be the most relaxing part of his day. The comfort increased to the point where Tony decided to push for Bruce to come and visit the lab. He was ready to see what Bruce could do with unlimited financial resources for his equipment.

Tony pushed those thoughts to the side as he made his way to meet Bruce. When the elevator door opened, Bruce’s expression was one of discomfort verging on outright anxiety but the moment his eyes fell on Tony standing there, waiting for him, that expression shifted to an uneasy smile.

“Thank you for inviting me here, Mr. St – I mean, Tony,” he corrected. “This facility is pretty amazing.”

“You haven’t seen the half of it but I’ll be taking you straight to the good stuff,” Tony said. “I’ve got a lot of gadgets.” He led the way down the hallway, trying to engage Bruce in more easy chatter. “How’ve classes been treating you?”

In retrospect, asking a grad student about classes probably wasn’t the best way to make him feel comfortable, but Bruce didn’t hesitate. “It’s been alright. We just made it through midterms, so it’s easier now than it has been the past several weeks. Between the hours of studying, writing reports, and then having to grade on top of that, it was a rough couple of weeks. I’m glad it’s behind me now.”

Tony nodded automatically. “Well, now that you’ve got a bit more downtime you’re more than welcome to spend time over here.”

“I appreciate the offer,” Bruce said, and Tony noted that his response hadn’t included a specific answer as to whether or not he would accept the offer in question. “How, uh, how’ve you been recently? It’s seemed that a lot has been happening for you.”

“You could say that. It’s nothing to worry about, pretty much on par for my daily life. Just a bit more public than usual.”

Tony couldn’t quite put his finger on it but he felt something shift between him and Bruce. After a few moments of silence, Bruce murmured, “I really appreciated what you did for those kids. I mean, I know they’re not kids now but it’s hard when kids… when people… are in that type of situation and don’t have a voice. But you spoke up for them and gave them a way to be able to speak out about what had happened to them and I was really impressed by that.”

Reading between the lines, there was a lot that Tony took from Bruce’s words. What – or at least what Tony assumed - had happened in Bruce’s past was technically none of his business and nothing for him to dig deeper on.

Which led to him simply saying, “I figure there’s a lot of stuff that goes on behind closed doors. I just wanted to give those kids a fighting chance.”

He stopped at the door to his lab, quickly tapping in the code and opening the door. “So, here’s the lab. It’s always open to you. Or sort of always open to you. Since I can’t let you come in here without me but you’re always welcome to give me a call if you ever want to come by. As long as you give me some advanced warning, I can see about rearranging my schedule. If you’re interested in working on something but I don’t currently have the tech here, just talk to me about the project and I can find a way to work some magic.”

Tony could see Bruce’s eyes widen as he took in everything. Tony allowed himself a satisfied grin before continuing. “Now, for the purpose of bills and acclaim and everything, my name’s on all of this shit but JARVIS is the one who really runs the show. He’s been with me in a variety of forms for a long time and he’s what keeps this place operational. C’mon, now, JARVIS, don’t be shy. Say hi to my new buddy Bruce.”

“Hello, Bruce.” JAVIS’ voice came through loud and clear, making Bruce jump. “It’s always nice to see Mr. Stark make new friends. It happens so infrequently.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “In retrospect, I should have made him much less sentient. He’s gotten snarky with age. Still, I haven’t junked him because he does a good job of running the place. Don’t tell him, but I’d be lost without him.”

“Bruce telling me would be unnecessary because I can hear you quite clearly, Mr. Stark,” JARVIS noted. “Should I work on creating accounts for your friend and granting him access?”

“Not yet,” Tony said, raising his hands. “You’re moving way too fast, JARVIS. We don’t even know if he’s going to come back here again. But, yes, if he says that he plans to stop by in the future, we’ll definitely want him to have everything he needs to get rolling here.” He looked to Bruce. “No pressure but what do you think so far?”

“I’m impressed by the technology here already,” Bruce said. “It’s way out of my area of expertise but from the basics I do know, I can only imagine what would be required to create a program like JARVIS.” He slowly moved around the office and paused at one of the tables, pointing at the lower half of Bucky’s prosthetic arm. “That’s one of the prosthetics you created a few years back, isn’t it? I thought you were starting to move away from the metal design?”

“I have been,” Tony confirmed. “I’ve been working towards something that’s made of a lighter material, as well as non-metallic. My goal is to create something that not only has the physical resemblance of the color and texture of human skin but can also provide sensation in the same way as skin. We’ve already been working on neural implants to allow for increased sensation but our aver arching goal is to create something that would be indistinguishable from a flesh-and-blood arm… at least for those who want it.”

“Those who want it?” Bruce echoed. “You mean some people have indicated a preference for the… is outdated an appropriate description?”

Tony nodded. “Yeah, more than you might expect. Not everyone out there wants to ‘hide’ their disability, so to speak, and so I’m trying to find methods of meeting everyone’s needs without the board coming down on me for spending too much money. Anyways, this particular prosthetic actually belongs to a friend of mine. Well, a friend of a friend. He was one of the first recipients of the prosthetic and recently he had a bit of an accident. His arm got damaged and I’ve been doing what I can to piece it back together.”

Bruce leaned in closer to examine the metallic device. “It looks like you’ve been doing more than piecing it back together.”

Tony grinned. “Yeah? What does it look like I’ve been doing?”

Bruce reached for the prosthetic, then paused and glanced at Tony. “May I?” He waited for Tony to nod before carefully turning the arm over and looking at some of the modifications Tony had been toying with. “Well, I can’t exactly figure out where you’re planning on getting the energy source from but unless I’m wrong, it looks like you’re trying to find a way to turn it into… a weapon?”

“You’re not wrong,” Tony agreed. “It’s something I’ve been toying with, although I’m going to have to get permission from that friend to keep those modifications permanent. I was just playing around for the time being.”

“Why build them directly into the arm though?” Bruce inquired. “I mean, I can’t speak for the friend you mentioned – or anyone else who might benefit from this technology – but I know I’d have some concerns if I had a prosthetic that could actively become weaponized at any moment. What is the benefit of that over having some sort of additional device that could be combined with the prosthetic with the same benefit?”

Tony blinked a few times as he considered that response. “That’s a good point. That thought had briefly crossed my mind but I suppose my thought was more on what we could add to this prosthetic since we have the ability to create internal mechanisms in a way that we probably couldn’t – or at least shouldn’t - consider with someone’s flesh-and-blood limbs. It seemed like a good opportunity to enhance the tech and offer another layer of projection but I could also see the point of view of having the tech separate so that they could be added. My only concern would be that having it separate wouldn’t necessarily help if a person were in a situation – an emergency situation, let’s say - that they hadn’t expected to be in and therefore they would not have the tech on them or close enough to utilize. But, yeah, if a person were prepared for a situation where the additional device could be useful, they could bring it along.”

“Plus having it as an addition would mean that you could still have it lock into the arm somehow, which might make it more regularly accessible. Like I said, I wasn’t sure exactly how you expected to power whatever these additions are going to do but I’m guessing you could make it work with both the prosthetic as a whole, as well as on its own.” Bruce offered a faint grin. “Besides, I’m guessing these prosthetics already give people enough trouble when they’re going through metal detectors. Wouldn’t it make it more difficult if they had some sort of armory in their prosthetic that couldn’t be taken out?”

“I honestly hadn’t thought about that,” Tony said, neglecting to add that was probably because he never flew on regular airlines due to the company jet. “See? You’re already helping me out here by giving me a new perspective. I’d definitely appreciate any tips from a fellow physicist on this or any of my work. I try to stay up on the latest research but seeing as you’re currently a grad student, I’m guessing you know more of the cutting edge stuff than I do.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “You often are the cutting edge, Tony. But I’ll offer what I can to help out.”

“And you’re more than welcome to use anything in here to help as you move towards your dissertation. I know you’re probably not thinking about that quite yet but I figured I’d put that offer out on the table as well.”

“Thank you,” Bruce said, almost automatically, and then immediately followed it up with, “But why? Am I some sort of pet project of yours? No offense meant but I just like to know what I’m getting into before I make any sort of agreement with anyone.”

Tony nodded. “I actually appreciate that. I’ve been double-crossed by people I trusted before, so I get the instinct. If you want, I can have my lawyer draft a written agreement if you want it in writing. Making it clear that you retain all rights to your work, things like that. That I’m not charging you any sort of fee for using my equipment. Hell, we can throw in a non-disclosure agreement if that’ll make you feel more secure.”

“That’s all wonderful but you didn’t actually answer my question,” Bruce said bluntly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why are you doing this?”

That gave Tony pause. What were his reasons? Furthermore, what reasons would he actually be willing to share with Bruce?

“It gets lonely working in the lab by myself,” he finally settled on. “It would be nice to have someone around here some of the time to consult with, to chat about ideas with, those sorts of things. I think it would enhance both of our sets of research and our work if we could collaborate. I know you’ve already got that at school but I’ve also seen how loud that lab can get and I figured a quieter place might be helpful for you.”

Bruce stared Tony down in a rather disconcerting way and for the first time Tony found his confidence wavering. Despite all of his assurance that this would be Bruce’s choice, he couldn’t have imagined Bruce turning down the offer but that might have been a bit too cocky of him. Pepper was always telling him that he needed not to assume the direction deals would go in. Tony liked to point out that if you went into a deal with a belief everything would go according to your plan, you were much more likely to receive that outcome.

Then Bruce nodded, and Tony let out the breath he’d been holding in.

“I am going to want that agreement in writing but, yes, I would definitely be open to this arrangement.” He turned his attention back to the remains of Bucky’s prosthetic. “For now though, I’ve got some ideas on how we could improve this design and add some additional tech to it.” He paused before adding, “If that wouldn’t be stepping on your toes, of course.”

“Not at all,” Tony said, sliding off his jacket and draping it over the chair. “JARVIS, put on something rocking but keep the volume low.”

As ‘Hell’s Bells’ started playing in the background, he moved across from Bruce and waited for him to explain his idea.

-~-

Running was one of the few activities in life that gave Pietro a pure and absolute sense of freedom. He’d learned early on that he was fast and that made it easier to run away from things, from specific threats, but he’d never considered that running in and of itself could be beneficial until his gym teacher invited him to try out for the cross-country team. Somehow, parental agreement had been granted and those months spent running outside, over varied terrain, were some of the best of his life.

The hardest thing for him to adapt to was the need to pace himself. Always, it had been a matter of making it from point A to point B in the fastest time possible but now, with a longer run, he’d needed to decrease his speed in order to maintain his endurance, to figure out the best pace for going up or down hills, on uneven paths, and how to do that so that he was still the fastest one out there.

It was then, as he learned how to make these changes, that he started to notice the world around him. To pay attention to the way the breeze felt against his skin, how his chest rose and fell with every breath, how the woods smelled the morning after an evening rain. He caught the sounds of the birds calling to one another, the squirrels moving in the underbrush, and he found that despite the shit storm that was the rest of his life, in those moments when he ran through the woods, he felt the most at peace despite the pounding of his heart in his chest.

Unfortunately, this time around there weren’t any animals to hear and the ground beneath his feet didn’t sink under his weight like the earth did when he ran cross-country. Here, the soles of his shoes tapped out a consistent rhythm on the solid surface and a machine beeped to tell him that his time was almost over and the machine was slowing to let his muscles cool down. He’d barely felt himself straining or pushing through – which, he reminded himself, was exactly what was supposed to happen with this regimented exercise program – and while there had been a few of those perfect, quiet moments as he ran, those were few and far between and nothing like the peace he’d experienced before when he ran outside.

As he shifted from a brisk walk to a slower one, he reached for a towel to wipe the sweat from his face and took a sip from the water bottle. He barely felt as though he’d warmed up but his legs were already shaky. There was a reason he was only allowed to run for a certain, insulting low, amount of time and that was because regardless of how good he felt, his body wasn’t at the level to handle intensive exercise.

There was a knock on the door before it opened and Wanda came inside. “Pietro, you almost ready? The interview starts in five minutes.”

“I’m almost ready.” He stepped off the treadmill and caught her hand as she brought her fingernail to her mouth to chew on a tattered end that definitely hadn’t been there this morning. “But are you still sure we should watch it? At this rate, you won’t have any nails left.”

The two of them had been debating back and forth since Tony mentioned the interview to them a few days back. While there was the benefit in watching of finding out exactly what was said, there was the not so positive element of having to hear whatever shit Talbot would say about them, plus see his face and expression as he talked about them. Last they had spoken, the need to know had outweighed any of the negatives but seeing his sister grow more and more uneasy as the time drew near – not to mention his own anxiety, which had led to him strategically planning his exercise regiment right around the interview – the more he questioned whether this was a poor decision and they could wait for a summary from the others.

“Of course we should watch it, we already decided that we would,” Wanda firmly stated. “We need to know what Talbot says.”

“I could always watch it and tell you afterwards,” he suggested. “That way you wouldn’t have to see it or hear it live.”

“And leave you alone to deal with everything alone?” she asked, a touch of anger in her voice. “No. If we are doing this, we are doing it together. I can handle it.”

He reluctantly nodded his agreement. “Then we’re doing this.”

Pietro kept his hand closed around hers as they walked into the living room. Already, as he approached the door, the background noise shifted from the relative quiet of the gym to the sound of reporters chatting back and forth. Wanda had placed what Pietro hoped were mixed drinks on the coffee table and there was no food; probably a good thing, given that no matter how hungry he felt at the moment thanks to the calories he’d burned off, he knew eating while watching this interview was bound to make him sick.

The two of them had just enough time to get settled – him kicking off his sneakers so that he could tuck his legs underneath himself on the couch and earning him a disgusted look from Wanda – before the interview started and Tony and Jonathan Talbot were introduced. Tony looked perfectly put together in a three-piece suit, with his hair slicked back, which was a bit different than the type of attire the twins usually saw him wearing, but Pietro’s attention barely lingered on him for a moment. Aside from the interviews and television spots filled with desperate pleas they’d seen on the news those months back, right after the police had “lost” the two of them at the station, neither one of them had seen their father since the days before they ran away.

The man who sat down in the chair didn’t look exactly like the one they’d escaped from. Instead of a face twisted with rage, this man smiled as he greeted the interviewer and kept the same twist to his lips as he nodded at Tony, although that smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. Pietro’s stomach knotted as he remembered all of those other times when he’d watched his adoptive father put on a mask in front of the public eye and remove that mask the moment they were in the privacy of their home.

The interviewer – or mediator, Pietro supposed - provided some welcoming words and a brief summary of the situation before inviting Tony to speak.

Tony leaned back in his chair and offered a flippant shrug. “I’m not sure how much I have to say. I pretty much said my piece at the press conference a few weeks back. I’m much more interested in hearing why Jonathan – it’s alright if I call you Jonathan, right? – called this interview today. It came as a rather surprising request.”

That statement gave Talbot the floor and he started off by sighing heavily. “Honestly, Mr. Stark -”

“It’s Dr. Stark, actually.”

Talbot slowly raised an eyebrow in a practiced move but merely corrected, “Dr. Stark, then. I would have preferred to have this conversation in private before you held that press conference. I think it would have saved a lot of regret and perhaps some frustration for both of us.”

“I don’t regret anything I said that day,” Tony said bluntly. “I saw the scars on the twins. I’ve heard their stories. I see no reason to doubt anything they said about their history with you. The fact that they would rather be on the street than return to your home speaks volumes.”

“And that is exactly why I thought it would be important to speak about this on national television, just as you facilitated that broadcast with the twins. I thought it would be important, in light of that, for both you and the public to be informed of the actual details of this situation. This time, unlike the last, with actual evidence to support statements made.” Talbot reached for the briefcase sitting beside his chair and took out several files. “As you are aware, myself and my wife adopted Wanda and Pietro when they were quite young. They had been orphaned in Romania and we wanted to give them the opportunity to come to the United States together, rather than have them separated, as so many siblings unfortunately are during that process. As you can see here, those scars that you spoke of were already on the twins when we adopted them. Each of them received full physicals at the time and I’ve highlighted the sections including those details right in these reports.”

“That fucking liar,” Pietro snarled at the television, his hand curling around one of the glasses and lifting back to throw until Wanda covered his hand with her own and gently guided it back to the table.

Talbot handed the file over to Tony, who flipped through, and then handed it back. “I’m sorry to say this, Jonathan, but this proves nothing. Anything can be written in a document. Documents can be faked. Are there any pictures that would back this up?”

“No, unfortunately those were some of the documents we lost in the fire that claimed my wife’s life,” Talbot said, a familiar iciness entering his tone as he accepted the file back from Tony. “But I can understand your hesitation to believe me after all of the horrible stories you’ve been told by the twins. I can assure – you have my word - that nothing was doctored in this file. You are right to believe that the twins underwent significant abuse; the facts are though that none of that abuse occurred at my hands. It all happened before we ever adopted them.”

“He’s wrong,” Wanda murmured, her voice shaking the slightest bit. “Our parents never raised a hand to us. Life wasn’t good or easy but it was nothing like the life we had with him.”

Talbot pulled out a second file to pass over to Tony. “This might explain some of this discrepancy. It contains two psychological evaluations, one on each of the twins. There was certainly a psychological component to the pre-adoption evaluation that I already showed you but these are a bit more relevant, given that they were conducted when the twins were teenagers.

As Tony slowly flipped through the pages, pausing at a few of the highlighted paragraphs, Talbot continued. “As you can see, particularly with Pietro, there were some quite concerning results. A diagnosis of Conduct Disorder, several cautions made that without proper intervention he could meet criteria for Antisocial Personality Disorder by the age of 18. He was found to be manipulative and untruthful, to make up stories. Is it so surprising that with the type of upbringing he had, he would twist things in this way? That he would place all of his abuse history on me, rather than on his birth parents? I was an easy target because I was the parent that was actually there and, as you will see in that report, results of that evaluation showed significant problems with attachment.
As Tony closed the report, a closed off look on his face while Talbot finished his damning statements. “None of that was Pietro’s fault, of course. He was abused at a young age and then lost his birth parents. We all lost my wife. It was hard for us to cope and, sadly, that was when Pietro’s behavioral problems escalated. He already had this history of making up stories and lying to people in authority and I can see that it has continued even to this day. He conned you, Mr. Stark.”

“Dr. Stark,” Tony corrected one more, and this time Talbot’s jaw tightened.

“Fine then, Dr. Stark. My son conned you, plain and simple.”

The worst part was that this report was one Pietro had seen before. He never should have lost his temper the way he did during that day of testing but, then, he’d already known what would happen with the results, regardless of how he answered the psychologist’s questions. Thinking back on that day, imagining Tony’s reaction to this information, just made his anger bubble closer and closer to the surface. He exhaled slowly and lowered his hands to his side, all but sitting on them in an effort to not put his fist through the table or to throw the nearest object. His entire body shook, almost uncontrollably, and Wanda shifted closer to him but did not reach for him, as though realizing that he wasn’t in a state to be touched. Still, her presence was calming, even if the last thing he felt at this point was calmness.

He waited with bated breath to see how Tony would respond. Tony, for his part, merely raised an eyebrow and quipped, “You know, I’m pretty sure we’d find a similar psychological evaluation on me from around that age. Are you accusing me of being a manipulative, deceitful person as well? People can change. Just because his file said this back then – and once again, that assumes this hasn’t been doctored – doesn’t mean that’s the type of person he is now. Besides, as far as I’m concerned, this is still circumstantial evidence. It’s not definitive proof.”

“What would be definitive proof?” Talbot asked, his voice silken and tone filled with encouragement, as though all he cared about was getting Tony to tell him what needed to be said to ease his mind, as though all he wanted was to smooth things over between the two of them. “After all, you were willing to go public without ‘definitive proof’ and I have to say I wasn’t too thrilled with hearing the accusations that were laid out against me. What I am providing you with now is my side of the story, as well as background information that you have not been privy to before. The fact remains that the twins were abused before they ever came under my care and both were quite emotionally disturbed. We did everything we could for them but clearly it wasn’t enough if they are making up these types of stories about their upbringing.”

Pietro felt bile rise in the back of his throat and swallowed hard to keep it down. What if Tony believed this? Pietro already had no doubt that the public might have already been changing its tune in light of Talbot’s evidence but he cared significantly less about that than what would happen if Tony also bought into it. Maybe they would need to prepare to run. Maybe they would need to actually run.

Tony leaned forward. “You’ve given no evidence to suggest that both are – or were – ‘emotionally disturbed’ as you said. You said that Pietro had Conduct Disorder. How does that impact Wanda?”

“Well, the twins always had a bit of an… unhealthy bond,” Talbot said – and Pietro caught Wanda’s hands curl into fists at that. “They were far closer than myself and my wife ever found appropriate. There was a reason we insisted on separate rooms for them fairly early on. Given that closeness, I do not believe it would have been hard for Pietro to convince his sister of anything he wanted to. You’ve heard of gaslighting, of course, Dr. Stark?” Tony grimly nodded. “I believe that Pietro created this new reality for Wanda. He got her to believe these stories so effectively that she truly believes these events happened.”

“You know, it’s funny that you mentioned gaslighting,” Tony said, almost conversationally. “Because I always had the sense that’s exactly what you did to the twins yourself. In fact, I think that’s what you’re doing right now. Twisting the facts to make them – and the public – doubt what actually happened. It happens in a lot in families in the media spotlight, you know. The type of family that needs to have a separate public face from the private one lends itself to abuse and gaslighting.”

“Well, now, Dr. Stark, it sounds as though you may be projecting some of your own family history into this,” Talbot bluntly stated.

If Pietro hadn’t been looking for it, he wasn’t certain he would’ve seen the shift in Tony’s body language in response to that accusation. It wasn’t anything drastic, just an extra furrow in his forehead, tightness of his jaw, and just the absolute slightest protective hunch to his shoulders.

“I meant no offense to you or your family, of course,” Talbot quickly continued. “I also did not mean to cast aspersions on your parents, God rest their souls. I merely noticed that you seemed to have a bit of a… personal… interest in all of this and I had to wonder if that was a part of it. After all, your own family difficulties were quite publicly documented.”

“I stand by what I’ve said,” Tony said firmly. “I stand by everything said at that press conference as well. You have provided some compelling information but nothing that, as far as I’m concerned, would stand up in a court of law. I have no way of knowing whether those documents were modified and, even if they weren’t, that doesn’t discount the twins’ depiction of events.”

“Then look for the evidence,” Talbot returned. “Look at their medical records. There is absolutely nothing there that would indicate a long-standing history of the abuse, such as they accuse me of. If you’re telling me that you’re willing to take the circumstantial evidence on their side, I do not understand why you dismiss the same, so called ‘circumstantial’ evidence on my side. It seems to me that you are being blinded by emotion, Dr. Stark. Perhaps your own issues with your father…”

“Leave my father and my relationship with him out of this,” Tony snapped, his remaining words coming out in a decidedly icy tone. “When someone comes to me, asking for help, because they’re telling me they were abused, you’re right, my emotions do come into play. I’m inclined to believe them because that’s not something people lie about. Especially not people – teenagers, really – who have been living homeless, on the streets for years. That’s not something that people do unless they have a desperate need to run away.”

Talbot sighed heavily. “You’re right to point that out. That’s the part I hadn’t spoken about yet. You see, right before the twins ran away, I had informed them that I was planning on sending Pietro to a separate boarding school for troubled youth, where he would remain, year round. I was concerned about the influence he had on his sister and with his behaviors spiraling out of control, I did not want him to pull her down with him. It had been something I had thought about for a long, long time, especially as his behavioral problems escalated, but I had not wanted to separate the two of them. I probably should not have told them ahead of time or mentioned that he would likely be unable to come home for holidays but I didn’t think it was fair to do that behind their backs and without family discussion.”

“That motherfucking lying piece of shit,” Pietro exploded, and this time when the glass found its way into his hand, Wanda wasn’t able to stop him before he flung it against the wall to a satisfying explosion of broken glass. “You never once said you were going to do that! You never cared about whether we were together or not or happy or sad or any of that shit!”

Talbot pulled out another folder and said, “In fact, here is the paperwork that I had submitted, if you are looking for something to back up the claim.”

Tony accepted the file and looked it over and for the first time since the conversation started, he didn’t seem to quite know what to say. That was the point where the interviewer cut in and said, “We are almost out of time. I had wanted to give you, Mr. Talbot, a chance to respond to a few questions. The public has been curious as to whether you plan to file charges against Mr. – I mean Dr. - Stark or the twins for the accusations that they laid out against you.”

Talbot shook his head, a pleased smile curving just the edges of his lips, so small that Pietro guessed no one watching would even noticed it. “As I have made it clear this evening, the twins had behavioral problems. I would not want to cause any further difficulties in their lives, beyond what they have already experienced. I would just hope that they might be willing to come home one day, to get the help that they need. As for Dr. Stark, I do believe that he was doing what he thought was best. I cannot fault him for that. He was trying to help my children and I do appreciate his efforts, even when those efforts cast me in an unduly negative light.”

“Then with that, we will bring this interview to a close. Thank you, Dr. Stark and Mr. Talbot, for joining us this evening. We hope that this will give both of you, as well as the public some peace of mind.”

With that, the channel clicked off and shifted to another news segment. Pietro and Wanda sat there, stunned by everything that had just transpired. Wanda had resumed chewing on her nails and, moving almost on autopilot, Pietro pushed himself to his feet and started to carefully pick up the remnants of his broken glass from the carpeted floor. He didn’t realize his hands were shaking quite badly until one of those pieces bit into his palm. Not that he noticed right away – there wasn’t any pain, just the realization a few moments later that he was dripping red liquid all over the white carpet.

For an instant, just an instant, he imagined taking that piece of glass and raking it over his arms because if he didn’t do something to let out the anger filling his entire body, he was going to burn up and explode. There was no way to contain this rage without letting it out somehow and he damn well wasn’t going to do anything that would hurt or frighten his sister.

And that was what stopped him; that, and Wanda’s sudden gasp that brought him back to the present and yanked him away from those thoughts. Before he could assure her that he was fine, she was crossing the room and kneeling down at his side.

“Pietro, you’re bleeding,” she said, as though that wasn’t already perfectly evident to him. Then, before he could respond, she guided him to his feet. “Come on. Let’s get your hand cleaned up.”

“I wasn’t going to…” he found himself saying. Then, “I didn’t mean to.”

Wanda furrowed her brows and cautiously said, “I know, Pietro. You were picking up glass and you cut yourself. It happens.”

She led him over to the sink, turned on the water, and placed his hand under the stream. He flinched the slightest bit as the water entered the cut but didn’t pull away when Wanda held his hand in place. The anger remained, right below the surface and yet he held it back all the more. That wasn’t something to be expressed in front of his sister. Not when her hands were shaking as well. After a few moments, as the water ran clear instead of red, he gently pulled away.

“Grab a band aid. It’s not that bad.”

She hesitated but then disappeared into the downstairs bathroom. Pietro focused on his breathing and tried to keep his thoughts in check. Not to wonder about what the public now thought of them. Not worrying about whether Tony’s impression of the two of them had changed either. Especially not letting his thoughts go in the direction of whether or not Tony might not longer be an ally and might disclose their location to someone else – someone like Talbot – after tonight.

The last one, at the least, he could reliably reassure himself wasn’t a concern. Tony wouldn’t pull that shit on them, not after everything he’d done to help. Still… his gaze lowered to the floor and immediately he found his eyes drawn to the recycling bin filled with empty bottles and cans. Just to be safe, maybe he could pull from some of his old tricks. They’d had to find ways to protect the different places they stayed in while on the streets. Create traps and alarm systems out of whatever they could find. Given everything they had here, there wasn’t any reason they couldn’t do that.

By the time Wanda returned with the first aid kit and started to bandage his finger, he already had a plan in mind.

-~-

The mood – hell, the morale – in the townhouse seemed to be going from bad to worse by the day. While conversations were somewhat more open over dinner – Clint managed to discuss his afternoon meet-up with Barney and some of the information his brother had been able to provide to him – there was still a whole hell of a lot that wasn’t being said or discussed and everyone seemed to be aware of that.

It probably wasn’t helping that the house was more packed than usual, at least in some ways. When he looked at it realistically, it wasn’t – the twins had been replaced with Bucky and Steve – but somehow, maybe with the increased tension and desperation of everyone in the walls, it felt smaller and more claustrophobic. That held true despite the fact that when he came home, Steve and Bucky were sequestered in their room. Sam informed him that Bucky had complained of a migraine and gone upstairs to get some rest and Steve went to stay with him while he slept.

The two hadn’t stumbled down until dinner, with Bucky still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and barely responsive as he flopped into one of the kitchen chairs. Natasha – whose protective instincts towards Bucky seemed to have resurfaced all the more since the incident at the shop – had spent a few minutes smoothing his hair back and massaging the back of his neck while Clint helped Sam tag-team getting the food on the table. Neither of them, nor Steve, seemed at all bothered by the fact that Natasha’s attention towards Bucky grew by the day. Particularly given that by the time everyone sat down to eat, he looked more alert and less unfocused.

All-in-all, maybe he was being too negative. During and after dinner, while conversation remained stilted, things were relatively comfortable, at least until the interview between Talbot and Stark came on TV. Clint could feel his blood pressure rising and he definitely wasn’t alone in that. Sam’s jaw had tightened to the point that Clint was fairly certain he could hear him grinding his teeth. Natasha’s expression shifted to one of hardened steel. Steve gave up on sitting entirely and started pacing after the first several minutes. Bucky’s foot tapped an uneven pattern on the floor that increased by the moment.

When the interview ended and Natasha hit mute, no one said anything. Bucky took several shaky, deep breaths, as did Sam. Natasha rose to her feet and poured herself a glass of vodka. Steve all but flung himself on the couch beside Bucky – who startled – and started sketching furiously in the sketchbook he always carried with him, at least once Bucky settled back down. Clint, for his part, exhaled raggedly and ran a hand through his hair.

While he’d never expected Talbot to admit to any of the abuse, he hadn’t expected these types of tricks to be pulled out. He didn’t worry too much about what would happen with public opinion since technically speaking, that wasn’t going to impact the twins, at least not where they were at the moment. On the other hand, he had no doubt that the twins were watching and he had no idea how they were handling everything that Talbot had said about them. It might not have mattered but depending on whether those files were accurate and truthful to any degree, that likely dredged up a whole lot of bad memories. It didn’t help that due to Tony’s security system on the twins, no one in the townhouse had any way of contacting them, unless one of them reached out.

“Alright,” Sam spoke up, finally breaking the silence. “That’s over. At least we know where Talbot stands. I think we can also all agree that technically speaking, this doesn’t change anything.”

“Except for the twins,” Clint spat out before he could stop himself. “They’ve been through so much. They didn’t need for their names to be dragged through the mud in front of the entire world.”

“Agreed,” Steve added, a snarl to his voice. “I’m fucking sick of these assholes getting away with everything and the whole blame the victim shit. We all know that Talbot hurt the twins. Hell, most of us have seen the scars. I don’t care what any of those files say and while I never thought I’d say this, I’m with Tony – we don’t know if these files are even real. I wish there was some way to take him down.”

“Which is what we’re all working towards in a variety of ways,” Natasha spoke up. “Because you’re right, Steve, we need hard evidence if we’re going to find a way to take Talbot down. I know Tony didn’t feel as though he had another option except to go live tonight but he should have done more to stall it until he had that evidence in his possession. Because right now, while it may not be strictly true, public perception is likely to show that people trust Talbot more than Stark simply because Talbot could bring the files.”

“So what do we do?” Bucky asked. “Do we just keep sitting here on our asses, watching this unfold? Or are we gonna do something about it?”

“I’m still not signing off on the vigilante justice route,” Sam quickly responded. “It’s not worth it to end up in prison.”

“Why are we back here, having this discussion again?” Clint cut everything off with that question. “We know we’re working towards a solution. We’re not there yet. How about instead of projecting all kind of shit into the future, we focus on something we can actually control?”

“Which is what exactly?” Steve spat out. “Being a college student? Pretending that our lives are normal? Acting as though half of us here haven’t had our lives threatened in the past couple of months?”

By the time Steve finished talking, Clint caught Bucky wincing and rubbing at his temples with his one hand. Natasha noticed as well and moved over to him to resume the earlier massaging of the back of his neck. Steve looked guiltily over at her and then reached over to rest a hand on Bucky’s leg.

“With tensions this high, having this discussion tonight isn’t going to help anyone,” Sam murmured. “We’re all upset. How about we put on a movie? Nothing needs to be figured out tonight. Our conversation is going to be a lot more productive if we’re calmer.”

Steve scowled but didn’t argue – Clint guessed that might have had something to do with the fact that Bucky was still visibly suffering, given that the bit of color he’d gotten back during dinner was pretty much gone and there was a pinched look about his mouth and eyes. With everyone else willing to let it go for the time being, Clint wasn’t about to argue either. He settled on sifting through the movies before tossing on The Princess Bride and then obligingly offered himself as a pillow for Sam, who sprawled out on the couch.

Natasha joined them early on in the movie, once she’d gotten Bucky and Steve settled comfortably on the other sofa. The tension in the room finally dropped to a manageable level. With Sam all-but-dozing more or less in his lap and Natasha curled against his other side, her head nestled on his shoulder, his thoughts about the twins and Talbot’s words drifted away. Not entirely, but enough that he was able to focus on the movie. On the other sofa, Bucky made a few soft, content sounds as Steve threaded his fingers through his hair and Clint could visibly see his muscles relaxing.

That was when the sound of Natasha’s cell phone ringing cut through the movie. Immediately, the atmosphere of the room shifted to one of anxious waiting. There could have been multiple options for callers – Natasha’s father, for instance, or the twins, even if they usually called Clint’s number, or just a classmate – but not one of them in the room believed it was something that simple, given that the relaxed atmosphere fell away entirely.

Natasha disentangled herself from Clint and went over to the counter, where her phone set on the charger. Clint caught her brow furrow when she saw the caller but she didn’t say anything as she answered the phone and raised it to her ear.

“Hello, Pepper. What’s going on?” Immediately her expression darkened in response to whatever Pepper had just said and she turned her back to the living room. “That does sound concerning. Have you already contacted the police? Good. Keep us updated, let me know if you need anything, and hopefully this is just Stark being Stark and nothing to be concerned with.”

By the time she finished talking, Sam and Bucky had both sat up and all eyes were focused on her. Before turning around to face them, she took in a deep breath, then another. Despite whatever she had heard, her expression was tightly controlled and revealed no emotion.

Even as she said, “That was Pepper. Tony Stark never made it home from the interview.”